Paris is Burning
by palais
Summary: The endless state of sleep can grab anyone. It can help you live, help you dream, give you second chances. D/Hr
1. Chapter 1

Ginny sat worriedly in a worn cushioned chair beside Hermione's hospital bed. As she watched the pale, drawn face of what once was the smartest girl in the history of Hogwarts, her heart skipped a beat. The small red head would never have thought that only two years after the war, after the real chance of dying by the hands of evil, Hermione would be dying, but this time by the hands of nature.

Hermione's room was a colourful fury of flowers. Harry's everlasting orchids sat right beside her bed, while Ron's daffodils stood proudly on the large window's sill, just as Ginny had arranged them. Her slender fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of the chair. She had been in this overly bright room for almost the entire day waiting for Hermione Granger to wake up. Of course, the youngest Weasley never expected Hermione to wake up today, but hoping was just as good for her.

For the past two weeks, Hermione had been in a constant state of sleep. She never moved, didn't make one sound, but Ginny knew she was alive for the one fact that she could still breathe on her own. That was what kept her coming back to Hermione's bright room that always smelt like disinfectant and flowers. Harry and Ron, however, had trouble coming to visit her. They had always seen her as independent, strong, and always ready with a comeback, but now they saw an empty shell, dependent on everyone, weak as a baby. No one even thought of happiness during that time.

Hermione, however, never knew that she was in that seemingly endless state of comatose. Even though she never moved, in her brain she was living life normally, out of the restrictive hospital bed. In her mind, she was a normal nineteen year old pursuing an education, forgotten of all magical qualities. She was a normal muggle.


	2. Chapter 2

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She woke up sleepily on Monday morning, yawning before she stretched herself out of her small bed. Her flat was small, but for the amount of money she paid for it, very little, it was perfect. Perfect, and clean. It was a double whammy for Hermione Granger. As long as she had a place to display her pristine books she was completely at ease, and this flat had an entire two walls filled with book shelves. She only filled three quarters of them.

In exactly three hours, her English class would commence in the old building of St. Augustine's. In two, she would be having a quick lunch at Borden's Café, a ten minute walk from the English building. Her body protested as she heaved her slender body out of her bed and into an upright position. It was ten o'clock, but to her it felt like six, especially with her curtains drawn. With a quick jump over her bed, she had ripped her curtains open, wincing as the sun hit her eyes.

At twelve she was walking down Queen Boulevard, her English books sitting in the crook of her arm, sidestepping puddles lined with mud from the rainstorm the previous day. The sidewalks were dry, warmed from the light of the sun, until you came to a dip in the concrete. She was still sleepy, her eyes slightly shut against the rays of the sun. If she had been fully awake, like Hermione Granger usually was, she would never have run into someone.

She found her books sprawled in the muddy puddle next to her. Seeing them ruined, her heart ached. Her only friends, broken and tattered.

"Watch where you are going!"

Hermione looked up at the man rubbing his arm in front of her scowling.

"I'm sorry—"She said, hurriedly picking up her books with an inward moan.

The man hadn't moved. "Stupid mudblood. God, why did they put me here?"

What on earth was a mudblood? Finished picking up her books, Hermione peered at the man. A twinge of hate hit her like a brick. He was of course the typical good looking man who always made fun of girls like her. First calling her stupid, and then mudblood—whatever mudblood even meant? Maybe because her hair was such a muddy colour? But why with the blood?—she had no clue what she did, other than run into him of course.

She couldn't get in a word before the man swept past her with an air of arrogance, a scowl permanently etched on his handsome features, heading towards a side street. Sighing, she turned towards her destination, wishing there was some kind of magic out there to clean her books.

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She felt uncomfortable in this dress. The fabric clung to her bust in a gracious way, but to her, every minute out in the flowered dress made her feel like a slut. To be honest, she had never wanted to go out, but Hannah—her brand new friend—had made her come. Now Hannah was occupied with dancing with boys, leaving Hermione alone.

The smoky air made its way to her brain, and soon she was tipping the long necks of bottles into her mouth, letting the sweet substances drip down her throat. Soon she was comfortable enough.

A nice looking man with dark hair sat beside her. Hermione smiled sweetly.

"Where's your boyfriend?" The man asked her, his teeth looking at Hermione crookedly.

She laughed. "Oh the boyfriend is busy."

"Then he won't mind if I did this."

The man grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her lips roughly. Hermione melted into the embrace, having not experienced this for a long time. The drinks were getting to her head now. Her memory was skipping beats. He was putting his hand on her thigh. She didn't like it, but she sat there still kissing him. No interruptions.

"Hey."

The angry voice hit her ears like a train. The dark haired man broke off from her and looked up at the blonde haired man standing behind Hermione. She giggled and slipped off her bar stool, luckily caught by the man behind her. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder in one fluent movement.

"What the—"The dark haired man asked, before he was cut off by the impeccable fist of the blonde man.

"Stupid muggle; you men always have to take advantage of girls don't you?"

Hermione leaned her cheek on the soft fabric of the man's shirt and smiled. "It was just a spot of fun, relax."

The blonde man growled and strode out of the bar with Hermione still over his shoulder, his arm holding her in place. "A spot of fun, was that all Granger?"

Her eyes closed happily and she smiled. "Yes it was. And I don't even know you. Are you going to kiss me too?" Her voice slurred, her hand waved useless in the air.

"No, now shut up before I make you shut up." He spun around, and in an instant Hermione felt like her stomach dropped out of her body.

She was in her apartment.

"How did you do that?" She asked as he sat brought her to her bed and laid her down gently. She looked up at his face and frowned with effort as the muscles of her face began to tire. "You tosser! You ruined my books!"

The man rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep, I'll make sure they are fixed."

She shut her eyes.

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A heavy headache woke her in the morning.

She got out of bed silently, holding the side of her head with one hand as she padded out into her kitchen. She turned on the sink tap and poured water into an old cup. With Advil in hand, she drank the water and headed into the living room with a sigh.

She wanted to scream.

The blonde haired man was sleeping on her couch, tangled in her grandmother's quilt. His face was pressed into her pink pillow from her bed, his hair resting on the pink, looking angelic.

With a prod from her finger he woke up. She jumped back as he sat up quickly and looked around confused. A light went off in his head.

"Jesus Granger, what was with you last night?" He scowled, looking up at Hermione.

Hermione looked at him frightened. "I'm sorry, I have no clue who you are," she said, her voice cracking.

"They didn't mention that, the stupid tossers. Don't tell me that you don't know me Granger. You hated me all through school."

She shook her head. She had never seen him before in her life.

"Malfoy, Granger. Draco Malfoy."

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He never left her side. Day by day, he walked with her to lunch, ate with a scowl, and attended her classes with her. They never spoke.

It could have been because of their past, of which Hermione never knew of. He was a mystery to her, bringing brand new things to cumulate in her mind, already cluttered with past and present memories of her childhood, public school days, days in the prestigious private school, and now. Why did he suddenly decide to make an appearance in her life and, most of all, why did he accompany her everywhere? Draco Malfoy, whom Hermione had taken to calling him Draco, much to Draco's chagrin who would have preferred her call him her usual Malfoy, was a puzzle, and she was keen on putting his pieces into place.

At night she would cook for him, and he would eat it. Other than the sound of their teeth, they were silent. Hermione would take that moment to study him, the burrow of his brows, the way his jaw moved almost robotically, the way his long fingers held her silver cutlery like they were worth millions. He kept his eyes on his food, only looking up occasionally, his cool grey eyes boring into Hermione's warm brown ones until she had to look away.

He never let his guard down, never seemed weak to her. For once in her life she had a rock she could hold on to in the middle of a storm.

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He saved her again.

She had gone out while he had been sleeping, wanting some time to think. There was no better way for her to think than to walk, so at two o'clock in the morning, she left her flat quietly and began to roam the dark streets of London.

She had done this before, gone for a walk at night when she couldn't think that is. But tonight, as she got five blocks away from her building, her heart jumped into her throat.

Hermione hadn't noticed the three men following her since the third block. She looked behind her and saw the shaded figures walking a quick pace, slowly catching up to her brisk walk.

She turned a quick corner running, hoping to lose them, but before she knew it they had advanced on her. One grabbed her arm as she screamed with whatever breath she had left after her quick burst of energy. Another man clamped his hand across her mouth tightly, bruising her. She tried to scream again, but no sound erupted past the man's hand.

She couldn't do anything. She struggled, but they overpowered her easily. The first man twisted her arm up behind her back and pushed her against the wall. Hermione was sure she was going to die.

"Hey!"

The voice came from the entrance of the alley. She moved her face across the brick of the building she was pressed up against to see Draco, scraping her entire face. She didn't care. He had come to save her.

He pulled something out of his pocket and pointed it at them men, who laughed.

"Is that the best you can do mate? A stick? Try—"The one man was cut off by a jet of green light that erupted seemingly from Draco's stick. Hermione was beginning to feel pain; a tear fell from her cheek. The man holding her arm fell back, stiff as a board, and hit the ground, his body making a deep thud. Hermione screamed as his now lifeless eyes looked up at her. Soon enough the two other men, who had attempted to run, were cut off by a jet of green, and they too fell to the ground lifeless.

Hermione slid to the ground gasping with sobs as she looked at the man staring at her with his dead eyes. She held her arm gingerly, obviously broken, as she ignored the flow of tears down her cheeks.

Draco moved to her side swiftly and picked her up. His face was a mask, as he carried her out of the alley. He made no move to console her; he only kept quiet as he twisted with Hermione's crumpled figure in his arms, and landed in her apartment once again.

He walked to her bed quickly, ignoring that Hermione had her face pressed into his dark sweater, sobbing uncontrollably.

She cried herself to sleep.

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Hermione awoke in the early morning, her head pressed into the soft chest of Draco Malfoy. His arms were wrapped around her body, holding her tightly to him. His face was resting on her hair, smelling of strawberries. Every so often, his muscles rippled and he held on tighter to her body, his warmth seeping deep into her bones. She didn't move, not wanting to wake him.

He woke up an hour later, his hand tangled in Hermione's hair. He unconsciously pressed his nose into the deep brown tendrils, breathing in the sweet aroma of roses and strawberries. His eyes opened slowly, raking over her body and his under the thick quilt on her bed, settling on her face seeing that she had fallen asleep again. He hoped that she would sleep the rest of the day, after what she had gone through last night.

Even he was traumatized. A tightening in his heart made his stomach sick every time he thought of the three men he had killed so quickly. Stunning them hadn't even crossed his mind, not when he was that angry, angry enough to kill.

He smelled her hair once more before removing his hand from her curls, to brush his hair from his face. The slight movement woke her, yawning and searching for his face.

"Thank you." Her voice was hoarse, her eyes red as she found his grey ones.

"You're safe," He answered, his hand lingering on her cheek as he searched her eyes, wanting to diminish any of the pain from last night.

It was the first words they spoke in weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

This one is short, only for the reason that I wanted to kind of split whatever was going to happen next (not going to tell you) up. More dramatics.

And don't worry; Draco isn't like this lovely person for long.

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She remembered everything as thunder clapped above her building. A flash of light threw shadows across her bedroom late in the night as Draco slept soundly, his chest rising and falling reassuringly.

It hit her all at once. The magic, which helped her realize how Draco had been getting her home quick and how he had cleaned her books, her real past, and what was wrong with her. She was acting in a dream life, one of which she wasn't dying, one that she had found love, one that was filled to the brim with happiness. None of this was real.

Her arms wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest like a lifejacket, as she counted the seconds between the thunder and lightning. Ten seconds passed. Ten seconds of which she missed out on her real life.

Draco stirred, twisting his body in the sheets, his hand grasping for her own. Upon realizing that she wasn't in bed, he sat straight up and looked around. He saw her at the end of the bed, sitting, a tear falling down her cheek. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away carefully.

"You scared me. What's wrong?" Draco asked, his voice cracking with the remnants of sleep.

Hermione shook her head. She didn't want to have to explain herself, explain that she was missing out on her life, and that this dream life of hers was the only thing keeping her alive.

"Come back to bed."

She shook her head again. "I have to go."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Come on, you'll get cold."

"I have to go Draco. I can't stay here forever."

"You don't mean that. Now come on." He grasped her hand and pulled her reluctantly down. She huddled against him for the last time, careful to pull her soft blankets over their two bodies. The last time.

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It was sunny the day she left. To her, it was the perfect ending.

"I can't keep you from the real world any longer. It's not fair to you," Hermione told him. His hand rested on her soft cheek, reveling in her Gryffindor self-sacrificing traits. They were much different from his Slytherin way of thinking. If he was her, he would never leave. He would stay in this quiet, perfect world with her forever.

He was selfish.

"I don't care Hermione. If you leave, where will you go?" His voice came like a sloth to her ears. Everything was slowing down for her, so she could revel in everything one last time.

"I suppose Heaven—if you believe in that kind of stuff. Maybe I'll come back as a bird, or something like that."

Draco sighed and dropped his hand from her cheek. "I'm not myself right now."

Hermione laughed softly. "I know. In my memories you were quite rotten to me."

"If this was the normal me, I would say good-riddance mudblood. But of course, I would never say that to you." He smiled, not the normal smirk of prudish Draco Malfoy, but a blithe, beautiful smile that not just anyone received.

She looked up at the sun. It seemed to be calling her. The grass and flowers surrounding them seemed to grab at her skin and clothes, embracing her in their clutches.

"It's time to go. Promise you'll go back. Promise you won't follow me."

Draco cupped her cheek in his slender hand, preventing nothing between them to stop the electricity that flowed through them. "I promise."

She smiled and kissed his forehead.

She remembered everything.

It was time to go.

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End file.
